


mollified

by janewestin



Series: molliverse [1]
Category: Late Night (2019), The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Crossover trash, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Miranda, Mirandy, Rare Pairings, Trixie (OC), mirandy is always endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-19 12:01:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22710520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janewestin/pseuds/janewestin
Summary: "She was good at this, damn it, good at talking to people, regardless of social standing.Provided, of course, that said people did not bear an uncanny resemblance—both in demeanor and coiffure—to Miranda Priestly."(I am obSESSed with Late Night - it is 1 zillion percent a DWP AU. like, an absolutely perfect AU. seriously please go watch this movie.)
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs, andrea sachs/katherine newbury
Series: molliverse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1638025
Comments: 184
Kudos: 400





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CW: contains nonspecific mention of sexual assault (Andy writes an article). I tried to keep it obtuse without losing plot points, but it's definitely a significant part of this fic.

_2016_

  
  


“Katherine Newbury,” Emma said.

Andy looked up at her blankly. “What?”

Emma set the stack of magazines she was holding onto Andy’s desk. The Post, Variety, two different Rolling Stones. All with Katherine Newbury on the cover. “I want you to profile her.”

“Emma,” Andy groaned. “Come on. No.”

“I can’t help it.” Emma dropped into the chair across from Andy’s desk. “The board loved your James Franco piece.”

“That was supposed to be Colin’s.”

“Yeah,” Emma said, “and if he hadn’t concussed himself, I’d be having this conversation with him, but he decided to take up skateboarding, so I need you to write it.”

Andy clenched her jaw. “You know I’m working on election coverage.”

“And you still can.” Emma reached across the desk and tapped one of the magazines. “But this comes first.” A slight smile touched her lips. “And hey,” she added, “I’ve done half of your research for you.”

Andy sighed.

*

It wasn’t that Andy hated profile pieces. Quite the opposite, actually—she enjoyed the challenge of coming up with innovative interview questions, and she got a kick out of trying to edit the occasionally totally bonkers and out-of-touch comments her subjects made during casual conversation.

The first three cover pieces she’d done had been tremendously fun: Joaquin Phoenix, Rebel Wilson, Penelope Stern. They’d been successful issues, and Andy had been quite proud of her work product. 

The interview with Audrey Amakor, model-turned-activist, was supposed to be about the body positivity movement. Audrey had been open about her recovery on social media, and Andy was charged and excited to write about the effect of the fashion industry on mental health. 

“I’m not going to talk about the foundation,” Audrey had said, as soon as she sat down.

Andy glanced down at her questions and slashed a line through the two about Audrey’s work with eating disorders. “No problem,” she said. 

“I read your article about immigration.” Audrey tilted her head to one side, eyes narrowed. She gazed at Andy for a long moment, then reached forward and gently tugged the notebook out of Andy’s hand. 

It had taken Andy twice as long to write up Audrey’s interview—if you could call it that—as it had any of the others.

“This isn’t what you were supposed to write,” Emma had said, when Andy submitted the piece.

“I know,” Andy said.

Emma let out a long breath. “It’s going to make waves.”

“I know,” Andy said again, bracing herself for the words, but Emma didn’t say them. 

What she said instead was, “We have to publish this.”

*

July 2014 sold more copies than any issue for the prior two years. Two days after the article came out, Audrey texted Andy. 

_I’m going to name him_ , the message said.

Andy didn’t say _Don’t_ or _Think about it_ , as she might have when she was Audrey’s age. Instead, she sent back _I trust you_.

It came as an Instagram post, published barely an hour later. Audrey’s black and white portrait from the article, wide-eyed and unsmiling, and beneath it, a name.

He was fired from Runway, then arrested. Over the next three weeks, twenty-six women came forward. Andy interviewed eight of them.

He’d done fully half of the in-house shoots for Runway. Had a standing monthly meeting on Miranda’s calendar. He’d been rude to Andy, but then, he’d been rude to everyone. 

Andy read Miranda’s statement on the plane back from LA. It was concise, damning, and maintained responsibility for his employment while divorcing Runway from his actions. Andy knew Miranda occasionally outsourced press releases, but she had no doubt that Miranda had penned this one herself.

*

Andy made one last plea to Emma. “Let Trixie write it,” she said. 

Emma snorted. “ _Trixie_? Andy. Come on.” And closed the door in Andy’s face.

*

Katherine Newbury was a legend, but Andy went to bed before ten. She knew the basics: that Katherine had been hosting Tonight for twenty-eight years, that she’d won about four hundred prime-time Emmys, that her recent personal renaissance was inspiring a lot of online thinkpieces about women in media. Emma had done significantly less than half of Andy’s research. 

She read a lot of articles, watched a lot of clips on YouTube. None of these prepared her in the _slightest_ for the moment when Katherine opened her front door. 

“I’m very bad at small talk,” Katherine said, and Andy was hit by such immediate, forceful attraction that it almost knocked her over backwards.

“Um.” Andy choked a little, then attempted to cover it up by gesturing with the coffees she was holding. “Yeah. Well. Good thing I have a lot of questions prepared.”

Katherine’s left eyebrow lifted, just a little, and she reached out and deftly relieved Andy of one of the Starbucks cups. “Well,” she said, “come in, then, don’t just stand there.” 

“Ah. Thanks.” What was she _doing_ ? She was _good_ at this, damn it, good at talking to people, regardless of social standing. 

Provided, of course, that said people did not bear an uncanny resemblance—both in demeanor and coiffure—to Miranda Priestly.

“They’re odd, aren’t they,” Katherine said, leading Andy into a massive living room and lowering herself gracefully onto the sofa, “these interviews. I’ve read your work. You write as though you’ve known James Franco for years.” She nodded at the armchair across from the couch. 

Andy felt her heart rate slow a little. The Franco interview had been unquestionably weird, and the memory made her smile. “Convincing farce,” she said, sitting. “There was a lot of editing.”

“Undoubtedly.” Katherine sipped her coffee. “Although I was much more impressed by your work from two years ago. The Audrey Amakor article?”

“Hey," Andy said, catching Katherine’s gaze. “Who’s interviewing whom?”

“Force of habit.” Katherine’s blue eyes twinkled. “You seemed nervous, so.” 

“How thoroughly unprofessional,” Andy said, pushing her fringe off her forehead. “Sorry.”

The twinkle reached the corners of Katherine’s mouth. “No, no,” she said. “It was rather charming, honestly.”

“Oh _God_.” Andy let her hand drop, feeling the flush return to her cheeks. “Can we start over?”

“Shall I show you in again?” Frank amusement now.

“If you can find me in the foundation of your house,” Andy said, grimacing. “I really am sorry.”

“Enough apologies.” Katherine set the coffee on the end table, smoothed her trousers, sat up straighter. “You know what, why don’t you start by telling me a little about you.”

And _that_ was so un-Miranda-like that Andy came back to herself a little. “I can’t think of a less interesting topic,” she said, reaching for her notebook.

“Oh, I’m fairly certain that’s not true.” Katherine raised her eyebrows. “I meant what I said, you know, about the Amakor articles. You gave a voice to a lot of women.”

Andy held up her pen and shook her head. “Amplified it, maybe. It was always theirs.”

“Point taken.” Katherine nodded. “I read them right after my husband died, and I thought—it was meaningful, what you did. I wanted to have her on. I should have.” She looked down at her hands, folded together in her lap. “I didn’t have the courage back then.”

“You seem pretty fearless now,” Andy said, and suddenly it was familiar, the rhythm and cadence of an interview. She hadn’t even noticed Katherine rerouting the derailed conversation. It had just sort of _happened_.

“Well.” Katherine smiled a little. “I admit I had some help with that.”

She told Andy about the near-miss with cancellation, that she knew she had to change but had no idea how to do it. And then she went backwards in time, talked about what it was like in the eighties, nineties. The boys’ club of stand-up. The elation when she’d landed _Tonight_. 

Two hours went by in a blink, and Andy realized she hadn’t even touched her coffee. 

“Do you have enough, do you think?” Katherine said, nodding at Andy’s phone.

Andy hit Stop on the recording app. “I think so, yeah. Thank you.”

Katherine was looking at her, a curiously incisive expression on her face. “You’re very easy to talk to,” she said.

“Well.” Andy shrugged, grinned. “That’s my job.”

A faint flush crept into Katherine’s cheeks. “May I ask you something?” she said.

“Of course.”

“I admit to a certain—ignorance, shall we say—when it comes to—” Katherine stumbled a little. She pressed her lips together, looked away, seemed to reset herself. “In the past few months, I’ve realized that it’s very easy to lapse into complacency.”

Andy’s heart skipped a beat. “Okay,” she said neutrally.

“Since Walter died, I haven’t—oh, fuck.” Katherine put her face in her hands. “This is going very badly. Andy. I think you’re delightful. Would you like to have a drink tomorrow night?”

Andy choked, then started coughing. She coughed for so long that she started laughing, and then the combined pain of coughing and the breathlessness of the laughter made her eyes water, and then _Katherine_ started laughing, and then Andy managed to say, “Yes. Yes, I’ll have a drink with you.”

“Oh,” Katherine said, reaching for the notebook that Andy had dropped. “Good. Thank God. That was terrifying.”

“Not exactly the word I want you associating with me, but okay,” Andy said. She wiped her eyes and stood. “Thanks, Katherine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Andy,” Katherine said, taking Andy’s arm, “the pleasure was all mine.”

*

Andy lacked a lot of things, at thirty-four years old, but insight was not one of them. She’d had a lot of dates and a lot of therapy since that night two years ago. She knew very damn well why she dated older women, why cropped platinum hair turned her head. She also knew that it was both ridiculous and futile to keep carrying a torch for Miranda, which was why she was bound and determined to give this thing with Katherine—whatever it was—a chance.

And beyond the physical resemblance to Miranda, Andy just _liked_ Katherine. She was dry, and funny, and weirdly confrontational with her honesty, which Andy found kind of refreshing, actually. She was also, as Andy discovered on their third date, a fucking awesome kisser.

“I knew this was a good idea,” Katherine said, leaning in to kiss Andy again, once the flustered waiter had retreated.

“You should probably reserve judgement until the article prints,” Andy mumbled against Katherine’s mouth. She tasted like red wine and olives.

“Don’t care,” Katherine said breathlessly, twining a hand in Andy’s hair. “Worse things have been written about me.”

“Your confidence in me is overwhelming.” Andy tilted her head, letting Katherine have better access to her neck—

—and from across the crowded restaurant, over the heads of probably fifty diners, locked eyes with Miranda.


	2. Chapter 2

_ 2014 _

It hadn’t been hard to find Miranda’s number. Although she’d pitched the Sidekick, she’d downloaded the contacts list into her personal phone, and the transitive property of technology had dragged every person she’d met since her early 20s into her current iPhone. It was possible, she supposed, that Miranda had changed her number, but it was worth a shot. She could always email.

The sound of Miranda’s voice was so jarring that Andy almost dropped the phone. “Yes.”

“Um.” Andy’s mouth went dry. She squeaked something unintelligible.

Impatient now. “ _ Yes _ .” 

Then Andy realized that Miranda must have saved her number, because Miranda  _ never _ greeted anyone twice.

“It’s Andy,” she managed to say at last. “Andy Sachs.”

There was a pause, and then a sigh. 

“Andrea,” Miranda said, and she suddenly sounded tired. “What can I do for you?”

“I was just calling to—” Andy broke off. “Can I meet you somewhere?”

“Meet m—” Miranda’s words were as fractured as Andy’s. “It’s the middle of the week, Andrea.”

“I know,” Andy said. “I just thought—I wanted to talk. About the—you know.”

Another sigh, deeper this time. “I know,” Miranda said. “My house. One hour.”

“Yeah.” Andy felt herself deflate a little with relief. “Thanks, Miranda.”

It took over an hour to get to Miranda’s house from Queens on the subway, so Andy snagged an Uber. 

“Andrea,” Miranda said, opening the door as though it had been seven days since she’d seen Andy, and not seven years. There were dark circles under her eyes.

“Miranda.” Andy stepped into the foyer. “You remodeled.”

“Renovated,” Miranda corrected absently, reaching behind Andy to lock the door. “I have a 2008 Mondavi Cabernet or a cheap Rioja.”

“Cheap,” Andy said. She followed Miranda into the kitchen. 

“I hope you didn’t come here to apologize,” Miranda said, pouring. She didn’t meet Andy’s gaze. 

“God. No.” Andy accepted the glass. “I hope you don’t think I would.”

Miranda arched an eyebrow, and for a moment she looked like the Miranda Andy had known before. “I didn’t think you’d changed  _ that _ much.”

“I just wanted to—” Andy hesitated, swirling the Rioja. “See if you were okay.”

“My well-being is irrelevant,” Miranda said. She slid onto the barstool next to Andy’s, sipped her wine, closed her eyes. “He was my responsibility.”

“You know that’s not true.”

At this, Miranda let out a shaky breath and tipped her head back. When she spoke again, her voice was not quite even. 

“I should have known,” she said.

It was on the tip of Andy’s tongue, some reassurance that it wasn’t Miranda’s  _ fault _ , but she saw at that moment that nothing she could say would make Miranda feel even the smallest bit better. 

If she’d been the Andy of a month ago, the idea of crossing the eighteen inches between them and taking Miranda’s hand in hers would have sent her into paroxysms of terror. But the past three weeks—the conversations she’d had—had shaken her to her core. 

She expected Miranda to jerk away, to give her that quintessential Miranda look of scathing disbelief. It didn’t happen.

True, she started a little when Andy made contact. But then her fingers were tightening, her thumb hooking snugly around Andy’s pinky.

At last she opened her eyes, pulled away. When she spoke, her voice was worn-out and gray. 

“I don’t know what to do,” she said.

Andy pushed her wine away. “Action,” she intoned, “is the antidote to despair.”

Miranda gave her a look. “Joan Baez,” she said.

“Right.” Andy stood up. “I have an idea.”

*

The legal account was partially supported by Runway, partially by Elias Clarke, and largely by Miranda. It wouldn’t cover everything, but it helped.

*

A week after the account was fully funded, Andy called Miranda.

“I want to take you to dinner,” she said.

She arrived at Le Bernadin fifteen minutes early, at precisely the same time Roy pulled up in the town car. Some things never changed.

“Hi,” she said. 

Miranda smiled a little. “Andrea.”

Small talk until their drinks came. When the food arrived, Andy finally asked “How are you?” 

“I’m...” Miranda trailed off. “Fine. Better.”

It had been the  _ strangest  _ two months, having gone from absolutely no contact with Miranda to seeing her almost every weekend. At first it had been because of the fund, and then it wasn’t any more, and Andy was—well, she was sort of going crazy. And now that all the paperwork was done, Andy didn’t know if Miranda would even  _ want _ to keep seeing her, and—

“I have to tell you something,” Andy said abruptly.

Miranda’s gaze went razor-sharp. She didn’t reply.

“The past few months have been—” She stopped. Bad? Good? “Weird,” she said, looking down at her half-eaten steak. “Some of it has been crappy, but seeing you—” She looked up again. Met Miranda’s eyes. “I like you, Miranda.”

Something in Miranda’s expression shifted. Just a little. Just a tiny enough change that Andy thought she might have imagined it. So she kept talking, ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach. “I don’t really know how to say this,” she continued, “but I wanted you to know—”

“Stop,” Miranda said, and Andy’s stomach plummeted all the way to the floor.

She wasn’t looking at Andy now. Her gaze was on her water glass, the flowers on the table, the pendant light above them—anything but Andy. Her lips were thin, her shoulders pulled tight. 

“Whatever you’re about to say, Andrea,” she said, so quietly that Andy could barely hear her, “don’t.”

Andy felt her face heat up, felt the sting of mortification behind her eyelids. “Why not?” she demanded sharply. “Why can’t I—”

“I said I don’t want to hear it!” Miranda snapped.

The words died on Andy’s tongue. The burning in her eyes got worse, and to her horror, she realized she was about to cry. She clamped her teeth down on her lower lip.

Miranda took a deep breath. “I cannot,” she said, “give you what you need, Andrea. Not now.” She paused. “Not ever.”

“You don’t know that,” Andy said, but her voice was small and her words sounded weak, even to her. 

“I do.” She said it with the finality of a brick hitting the hardwood. And then she added, “We can finish dinner, Andrea, if you like” and the way her tone gentled was like a knife in Andy’s heart. 

“No,” Andy bit out. She slid out of the booth, fumbling for her purse. She barely made it out of the restaurant before the tears fell.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoa dude this got angsty

_ 2016 _

“What?” Katherine pulled back.

Andy’s attention snapped back to Katherine. “Nothing,” she said quickly. 

Katherine looked to where Andy’s gaze had been, and her expression went bright and sharp. “Ah,” she said.

“Just someone I used to work for.”

Katherine pulled away and gave her a withering look. “I’m not an idiot, Andy. I’ve interviewed Miranda Priestly twice.”

“It’s nothing,” Andy said. “She’s nobody.” 

Her stomach twisted a little at that, as though her body was physically protesting the words, but Katherine seemed—if not totally satisfied by her answer, at least partially mollified. And when Andy snuck a glance a moment later, Miranda was gone.

*

“Come home with me,” Katherine said, after she’d paid the bill. 

Andy’s heart did a somersault in her chest. “Katherine—”

“Look.” Katherine put her hand over Andy’s and leaned toward her, her blue eyes focused and intent. “It’s pretty clear from your reaction that there was  _ something _ with you and Miranda.”

Andy opened her mouth to protest, but Katherine was still talking. “I don’t know what it was,” she said, holding up a hand and closing her eyes for a moment, “and I don’t want to know. But I like you, Andy, and I’ve frankly had more fun with you than I have in—” she made a little face and shook her head—“in longer than I care to think about, actually, and whatever you had with Miranda, it just—it doesn’t matter.”

She stopped. Looked at Andy with an expression that was half apprehension, half anticipation. 

Andy rolled Katherine’s words around in her head. _I like you, Andy_ and _whatever you had,_ _it doesn’t matter._

She smiled. 

“Yeah,” she said. “I’ll go home with you.”

*

Okay, so Andy had a fantasy about making out in the back of a town car, and if the other person wasn’t the  _ exact _ silver-haired woman she’d fantasized about—well, this was pretty damn good, too.

*

“You know what,” Andy said breathlessly, lifting her head from between Katherine’s thighs, “you’re absolutely right. This is really,  _ really _ fun.”

Katherine, panting, still managed to beam.

*

It didn’t escape Andy that she was literally across the park from Miranda’s townhouse. She glanced at the sunlit trees as she climbed into the Uber, and she tried not to think about the stricken expression on Miranda’s face the night before.

*

Two days later, Miranda called.

She didn’t bother pretending she didn’t recognize the number, or that she was too busy to answer. “Hi, Miranda,” she said.

Miranda sounded almost  _ startled _ , as though she wasn’t expecting immediate familiarly. “Andrea,” she said, her tone lifting on the last syllable.

“Yeah,” Andy said tightly. “You got me. What’s up?”

“I believe,” Miranda said, “that I owe you an explanation.”

Anger flared in Andy’s chest like a flash in a pan. “You don’t owe me anything, Miranda,” she snapped, “so go find redemption somewhere else.” 

She hung up, heart hammering in her chest. Then, for good measure, she turned off the phone. And immediately turned it back on again, because you just never knew.

*

She went to a taping of Katherine’s show. It happened, as it turned out, at a very reasonable six-thirty in the evening, which was why she was free for dinner so many nights. At one point, Katherine looked right over at Andy in the audience and  _ winked _ .

Miranda who?

*

“I don’t know how else to tell you that I  _ do not want to talk to you _ ,” Andy said the next time Miranda called, and hung up before Miranda had the chance to say hello.

*

_ Friends _ , the text message said.  _ That’s all I ask. _

Andy deleted it.

*

And then Miranda showed up at One Hudson Square. 

They let her in, of course; she was  _ Miranda Priestly _ . Andy grabbed her by the arm and hauled her into her office, hissing “what the  _ fuck  _ Miranda” while her coworkers stared.

She shut the door and locked it, then whirled on Miranda. “What the  _ fuck _ ,” she said again, hands outspread, eyes bugged out with incredulity.

Miranda lifted her chin. “I am not in the habit of chasing down a conversation, Andrea,” she said primly.

“Uh, right,” Andy said. “Did I not set a clear enough boundary for you?”

“I am  _ also _ ,” Miranda said, “not in the habit of being hung up on.”

“Again. Boundaries.”

“Are more effective when motivated by something other than anger,” Miranda said, sitting down in the chair across from Andy’s desk. “I was hoping we could talk.”

“Fine.” Andy stalked over to her own chair and dropped into it. She put both elbows on the desk, leaned, and glared. “Talk.”

“You’re dating Katherine Newbury,” Miranda said, and Andy’s head almost exploded. 

“Oh my  _ God _ ,” she said. “That is so none of your business it’s not even funny.”

“I’m sorry,” Miranda said.

Andy pulled up short. “I—what?”

“I came here, Andrea,” Miranda said, sighing, “because I needed to apologize to you.”

“Hm.” Andy set her jaw. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

“I’m aware,” Miranda said. She looked away. “Two years ago, you started to tell me something, and I stopped you.”

_ Oh, I remember _ , Andy didn’t say. She waited. 

A flush was starting to creep into Miranda’s cheeks. “I—enjoyed spending time with you,” she said, a little haltingly now. “Despite the circumstances.”

Andy forced herself to breathe evenly, because her treacherous heart was starting to pound. 

“The situation in which we found ourselves—”  _ we _ , thought Andy dizzily—“I had just had an employee revealed to be a criminal of the worst kind, and you had been my assistant—”

“Not for seven  _ years,”  _ Andy blurted.

“Regardless,” Miranda said, the flush darkening. “You are much younger than I am, Andrea, and when you worked for me you were twenty-four years old.” She didn’t meet Andy’s gaze.

It clicked, then. “You didn’t want to be lumped in with him,” Andy said. 

“Yes. No.” Miranda looked torn. “I was—there’s no graceful way to put this, Andrea. I was afraid.”

Andy’s stomach was in knots. “You could have  _ told _ me.”

“I thought—” Miranda pressed her lips together. “I thought it was kinder, this way.”

The knots tightened, twisted around themselves. “ _ Kinder _ ?” Andy repeated incredulously. “Cutting me off mid-confession, watching me walk out, and  _ never talking to me again _ ?”

“A clean break—”

“ _ There’s no such thing! _ ” Andy shoved away from her desk and spun her chair away from Miranda. She actually had to clamp a hand over her mouth to keep from escalating.

Behind her, Miranda was silent.

Finally Andy spun back around. “Did you ever consider,” she said evenly, “for one tiny second, even, just asking me how I felt about it?”

Miranda’s lips got even thinner. “No,” she said. 

“Uh huh.” Andy’s fists were clenched so tight that she thought her nails might draw blood from her palms. “And why, Miranda, are you telling me this now?”

Miranda took a deep breath and lifted her chin. She looked straight at Andy. “I thought,” she said, “that with some time, the way I felt would dissipate.” Another deep breath. “I was wrong.”

“So let me get this straight,” Andy said. She held Miranda’s gaze, tasting fury like copper at the back of her tongue. “You had a toy, you decided you didn’t want your toy, you  _ chucked _ your toy, and now, because another kid is playing with it, you want it back?”

She watched, with a kind of cruel glee, as the blood drained from Miranda’s face. “Andrea—”

“Yeah, Miranda,” Andy said. She got up, unlocked the door, and pulled it open. “I think it’s time you headed out.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Best feelings:  
> 1) birth of children  
> 2) signing the marriage certificate  
> 3) YOUR COMMENTS ON WHAT I LEGIT THOUGHT WAS A CRAP STORY 
> 
> You guys, I checked my account this evening and I had NINETEEN COMMENTS on this story. Holy crap. You gorgeous people. I genuinely have no idea what I’m doing with this and you are all so kind and generous and lovely and are really propelling me to the finish line (wherever that might be). Thank you so incredibly much. You’re all so awesome.

“Uh, what the fuck was that?” Trixie propelled Andy back into her office and closed the door. “The entire bullpen just saw you throw _Miranda Priestly_ out of your office.”

“You know, I am really _sick_ of everyone saying her name like it’s—like it’s in _italics_ ,” Andy snarled. “She’s not any better than you or me and she sure as shit isn’t nicer.”

“ _Whoa._ ” Trixie took a step back. “Do you need a minute?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” Andy said. She looked at Trixie. “What are—why are you in here?”

Trixie gave her a blank look. “Because we’re friends, hello?”

“Friends?”

“Yeah,” Trixie said, her eyebrows climbing even higher. “You know, that thing you have with another person where you like them and want to hang out with them and demonstrate concern when they have a hugely visible temper tantrum involving one of the most powerful people in publishing.”

“Yeah.” Andy scrubbed a hand over her face. “Sorry, Trixie.”

Trixie was looking at her closely. “You know what,” she said, “why don’t we skip out early and go get a drink.”

“Uh.” Andy looked at her watch. It was almost four. “Yeah. Sure.”

*

It wasn’t that Andy _wasn’t_ social, it was just that her work at the magazine consumed so much of her time, particularly since she’d started doing cover stories. And Trixie worked in features, mostly reviewing concerts and plays, and their paths just hadn’t really intersected that often. But now that Andy thought about it, they _had_ gone out a couple of times, and she _did_ always find herself talking to Trixie at work functions, and—

“Wow,” Andy said. “We _are_ friends.”

“Not exactly a sparkling endorsement of my company,” Trixie said dryly, “but seeing as it’s you, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Trixie removed the tiny plastic saber from her mai tai and delicately bit a maraschino cherry. “You are very—” She chewed thoughtfully. “Focused.”

Andy frowned. “Thanks?”

“I mean, it’s a good thing, generally,” Trixie said, “but you might find that some kind of social structure is helpful to cope with, like, public freak-outs, et cetera.” She gave Andy a pointed look. “So what, exactly, did Miranda Priestly do to you?”

“No italics,” Andy observed.

Trixie gave a little salute with her glass. “No italics,” she said.

*

She hadn’t meant to tell Trixie quite so much, but two margaritas loosened her tongue, and she found herself more than a little grateful for Trixie’s company.

“I mean, it’s not a _bad_ situation to be in,” Trixie said, poking at the remnants of their wing platter with the tip of her saber. “You’re in very high demand.”

“She just wants what she can’t have,” Andy said grumpily. 

Trixie shrugged. “Don’t we all?”

“Yeah, but—” 

“You’ve got a good thing with Katherine,” Trixie said, “but it’s not really fair to her, is it, if you’re doing it because of Miranda?”

Andy glared. “I’m not doing it because of Miranda!”

Trixie arched an eyebrow at her. She didn’t reply.

“I’m not,” Andy said, a little less emphatically this time.

The eyebrow went higher. Still no response.

Andy stuck her face back in her margarita. “Fuck,” she mumbled.

*

She spent the night on Trixie’s couch and woke up with an aching back and a dull headache. She checked her phone, but Miranda hadn’t called.

*

It wasn’t until two days later, when she had cooled down, that she processed what Miranda had said. She’d been too angry at the time to hear it, she supposed, and she’d sort of forgotten to tell Trixie that part when they were out at the bar. 

Miranda hadn’t been horrified by her confession, or mortified, or repulsed. She’d enjoyed spending time with Andy? God. For Miranda, that was practically a profession of love. 

And then—what had the actual _words_ been? _I thought that my feelings would dissipate_ , Miranda had said. _I was wrong._

_You could have her_ , a sly little voice whispered, in the back of Andy’s mind. 

Andy yanked a brush through her hair and scowled. No. Whatever. Miranda had had her chance. She’d laid it all out there two years ago, and Miranda had tossed it back in her face without a second thought. The toy analogy was dead on. Miranda only wanted her because she was off the market. 

_Or maybe it just reminded her of what she could have had,_ the voice suggested.

Andy tossed the brush into the sink and made a face at her reflection. “Shut up,” she said out loud.

*

“Is something the matter?” 

Andy rolled onto her side. Katherine was looking at her with wide, expectant eyes. 

“What?” Andy said. 

“Let me rephrase,” Katherine said. She slid a hand over Andy’s hip. “Would you like to talk about what’s bothering you?”

Andy made a face. “I thought English people didn’t do feelings.”

“I’ve been emotionally naturalized,” Katherine said. She smiled, small and gentle. “Andy.”

Andy squeezed her eyes shut. “You’re so _nice_ ,” she said.

“Why does that sound like a preamble?” The hand on her hip moved to her neck. “Is this about Miranda?”

Andy opened her eyes and looked at Katherine guiltily. “Is it that obvious?”

She expected Katherine to be hurt, or even angry, but Katherine was gazing at her with what looked, bewilderingly, like slightly amused compassion.

“Andy,” she said, “I don’t have many friends, so I imagine it may be slightly difficult to believe, but I do have some interpersonal intuition. Are you worried about hurting my feelings?”

Andy bit her lip. “Kind of, yeah.”

“Well.” Katherine stretched forward and brushed her lips lightly against Andy’s. “I hate to break it to you, darling, but it’s barely been three weeks.”

“You’re not upset?”

Katherine’s brow furrowed a little, and she shifted on the pillow, her gaze going to somewhere near Andy’s left ear. “Upset,” she repeated thoughtfully. “Upset is a strong word. A little—disappointed, perhaps. But not upset, no.”

“I don’t know if it means anything, but it really—it doesn’t have anything to do with you,” Andy said. 

“Oh,” Katherine said, smiling a little, “give me some credit, please, Andy. I do know that.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

A little laugh. “No. Do you want to leave?”

Andy blinked. Did she? "No," she said.

"Ah." Katherine smiled. The pad of her forefinger found the hollow behind Andy's ear and stroked, gently. "Well, that does help."

Andy frowned. “Then what—”

“Listen.” Katherine propped her head on her hand and looked straight at Andy, her expression going serious. “I was married for thirty-one years. I’ve only even _entertained_ the idea of sleeping with women for the past eighteen months. Andy, I meant it when I said that whatever you had with Miranda doesn’t matter.” She pulled her hand away from Andy’s neck and rubbed her thumb lightly over Andy’s lips. “I like you. I truly do. And if you are able to—to get past, or through, whatever your feelings are for her, then I am very, very happy to keep doing this with you. But please, _please_ do not expect me to be anywhere near ready for exclusivity or commitment.” She sighed. “And _that_ has nothing to do with you.”

Andy let out a breath. She felt— _lighter,_ suddenly, hearing Katherine’s words.

“Okay,” she said. She scooted—a big scoot, and then a little one, until her body was flush with Katherine’s. She slipped her hand over Katherine’s waist.

“Yeah,” she added, into the warm curve of Katherine’s neck. “I can live with that.”


	5. Chapter 5

Getting past her feelings for Miranda was proving slightly trickier than Andy had anticipated, mostly because after about six days, she started to feel massively guilty about throwing Miranda out on her ear. That Katherine was being so understanding—even _helpful_ , God—made Andy feel even worse. 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Katherine said, handing Andy a mug of coffee and sitting down beside her on the couch, “given that it will likely mean the end of—” she gestured—“ _this_ , but I think perhaps you should call her.”

“You can’t possibly want to talk about this,” Andy said.

“I want to talk about a lot of things,” Katherine said. “Current events, pop culture, Ruth Bader Ginsburg. I care about all those things, and I care about you.” She squeezed Andy’s knee. 

“Katherine,” Andy said.

Katherine’s eyebrows lifted a little when she smiled. “Yes?”

Andy covered Katherine’s hand with her own. “You do have friends,” she said.

*

If nothing had changed in the past two years—and Andy had no reason to think that it would, given that Miranda’s schedule had been exactly the same since the day she’d walked into Runway—then Miranda would be home with the Book by a quarter to ten. 

At nine-fifty, she hit Send.

The phone rang twice, then went to voicemail. She tried again. Three rings this time. Voicemail.

“Miranda, it’s me,” she said. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry, and I’d like to see you. Any time you’re free.” She paused. “Um, let me know.” 

*

Two days passed. Three, four. A week, and Miranda didn’t call.

*

On the day the article came out, as a surprise, Andy detoured three blocks and brought a stack of magazines to the Tonight studio. 

“You want to come up?” Brad asked, when she called up to the office. 

“Gotta get to work.” Andy handed the magazines to the security officer, mouthing _thank you_. “They’re with Frank.”

“I’ll let you know when she gets in,” Brad said. “See you, Andy.”

“Bye.”

*

Forty minutes later, her phone rang. 

“Andy.” Katherine’s voice was thick with emotion. “This is—this is remarkable.”

Andy had used the material from their first interview, true. But she’d gone back and put in details she’d noticed from their time together. Descriptions of Katherine’s mannerisms, of the way she smiled, of the faraway look she got when she talked about Walter. It was, without a doubt, the best profile she’d ever written. 

“I can’t do you justice,” she said, “but I tried.”

“Can I see you?” 

“Uh—” Andy looked at her schedule. She had a meeting at eleven, and she had three drafts to proof, but— “Yeah,” she said. “I’ll come over there, is that okay?”

“Yes.” A pause. “Thank you, Andy.”

*

“I normally hate these, honestly,” Katherine said, touching the cover of the magazine, “and I read it because you wrote it, but—” She looked at Andy with bright eyes. 

Andy felt herself blushing. “Thanks.”

“Katherine, the monologue’s over by three minutes, you need to tie-break between—” The dark-haired woman looked up from her laptop as she walked into the office. Her eyes went wide. “Oh! Shit, sorry.” She took a step back. 

“Molly, no, wait.” Katherine let go of Andy. “Come in, please. Molly, this is Andy Sachs. Andy, Molly Patel, she’s one of the writers.” 

“Oh, the article!” Molly’s face lit up. “Yeah, Frank brought them up this morning. If you ever decide to do comedy, please don’t come for my job.”

Andy laughed. “I’m afraid I’m saddled with permanent, inadvertent gravitas, so I think you’re safe.” She reached for her bag. 

“You’re welcome to stay,” Katherine said.

Andy smiled. Shook her head. “I’ve already monopolized half your morning,” she said, because she _did_ have a meeting, and besides, she was pretty sure she recognized the expression on Molly’s face.

*

“Miranda,” she said, when the call went to voicemail for the third time, “if you really don’t want to talk to me, I won’t call again.”

*

Five minutes later, Miranda called back.

*

It didn’t make any sense to be nervous. The call had been short, and Miranda had been terse, but she’d agreed to meet and that was eighty percent of reconciliation, for Miranda. And yet Andy was jittery and anxious. 

It might have had something to do with the _location_ of the meeting, come to think of it. The Elias Clarke lobby was as vast and chilly as Andy remembered, and she was forcefully reminded of early mornings and late nights and hideously uncomfortable heels. She slid the sole of one Fila sneaker over the polished marble. 

“Andrea.” 

She was on her feet before she’d even met Miranda’s gaze. “Hi.”

Miranda was wearing enormous sunglasses, not quite dark enough to entirely hide the trepidation in her eyes. “Roy is outside,” she said.

Andy wondered, for a fleeting moment, if she could ever walk arm-in-arm with Miranda, as she did with Katherine. If Miranda was still afraid.

They slid into the back of the car. The privacy screen was up, but Miranda didn’t say a word.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Andy said.

“Mm.” Miranda’s lips were pressed together in a straight line.

“I’m sorry that I yelled at you,” Andy added, as the car started to move.

The lips tightened. Miranda turned a little further toward the window.

“Miranda.” Andy reached over and put a hand on Miranda’s forearm. “Will you at least take off the sunglasses?”

Long-suffering sigh, and Miranda reached up and pulled the sunglasses off. “Happy?” 

Andy smiled a little. “Getting happier,” she said. She gave Miranda’s arm a little squeeze and let go.

“You have no shortage of it, I’m sure,” Miranda said, an edge in her tone. 

Andy raised her eyebrows. “Pardon?”

“With Katherine.” Miranda straightened her spine. She didn’t look at Andy.

Andy had to bite down on her tongue to keep her smile from widening. No one, it turned out, did jealousy like Miranda Priestly.

“Katherine,” she said, “was the one who suggested I call you.”

Now Miranda actually _scowled_. 

“She’s a nice person,” Andy added, because she still felt kind of mean.

Miranda inhaled sharply through her nose and turned fully toward Andy. “If you came here to foist your liaison with Katherine Newbury on me, Andrea—” 

“Okay, okay.” Andy held up her hands placatingly. “Sorry. It’s just that, you know, I might still be a little bit mad at you.”

Some of the tension went out of Miranda’s posture. “I suppose I deserve that,” she said. She glanced at Andy, then away again. 

Andy sighed. “You did try to apologize.”

“Rather late, as you pointed out,” Miranda said, and she sighed, too.

“Your timing sucked,” Andy agreed.

“I didn’t realize—” Miranda paused. Took a deep breath, then looked at Andy. “I didn’t realize how much I hated the idea of you with someone else until I saw it for myself.”

Every muscle in Andy’s body locked up. She stared at Miranda, completely unable to form a coherent thought. 

“I read the article,” Miranda continued, letting her gaze slide away from Andy’s. “It was beautifully written, as all your pieces have been.” She hesitated. “I could tell that she—means something to you.”

Andy swallowed. “Yeah,” she said. ”She does.”

There was a long silence, then: “I was ashamed.”

Andy opened her mouth, then closed it again. Miranda was looking out the window now, one hand lightly on the car door. “You wrote Audrey’s story with such depth,” she said, “such compassion _.”_ She closed her eyes. “To find out that it happened at my publication—that I was _oblivious—”_ There was stark pain on her face now. “And you saw to the heart of it, Andrea.”

Andy remembered, suddenly, reaching across Miranda’s kitchen counter and taking her hand. The way Miranda had clutched at her. _I don’t know what to do_.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said, as she’d said to Miranda then.

“Perhaps not,” Miranda said, opening her eyes, “but you told her story, and I—” She broke off.

“When you knew,” Andy said, “you did the right thing.”

Miranda’s face was pale. “It was not enough.”

“Miranda.” 

Miranda turned. Met Andy’s gaze. 

“I still—” Andy’s nails bit into her palm. “I still care about you.”

It was like a stone hitting the thin ice of a frozen lake. Miranda took a little breath, her lips parting, her forehead smoothing. 

“And I you,” she said, very quietly. 

Andy slid her hand across the seat between them until the tip of her pinky touched the side of Miranda’s hand.

And then Miranda lifted her fingers, carefully, one at a time, and slid them over Andy’s. It wasn’t much, after all this time. It wasn’t much, after everything that had passed between them.

It was enough.


	6. Chapter 6

“Your bourgeois is showing,” Andy said around the last mouthful of soggy ice cream cone.

Katherine laughed. “It’s a nice park!”

“Nice parks don’t have entry fees.” Andy crumpled up her napkin and tossed it into the trash can next to the bench. “I’m surprised they let you eat in here.”

“You didn’t call me to lecture me about income inequality,” Katherine said, looking at her with raised eyebrows, “did you?”

Andy sighed. “No,” she said. “I didn’t.”

“Are we breaking up?” Thin amusement in her voice, and Andy thought that she sounded a little hurt underneath, no matter what Katherine had told her.

Andy turned toward her, took Katherine’s hands in hers. “I don’t want to not be friends.”

Katherine winced. “ _Andy_.”

“— _God_ , that sounded bad, didn’t it?” Andy groaned. “I’m sorry.”

“Start over,” Katherine said, looking pained. “Be less patronizing.”

Andy closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, Katherine’s expression had cleared. She squeezed Andy’s hands.

“Okay,” Andy said. “The thing is, I’ve had a lot of feelings about Miranda for a really long time.” She took a deep breath. “We’ve never been that good at communicating, and there were a lot of—there were complications, before, and now I think those complications might be—there might be fewer of them.” She grimaced. “How am I doing?”

Katherine looked away, chewing her lip. “Doesn’t feel great,” she admitted, “but it’s a lot better than _let’s be friends_.” She pulled her hands out of Andy’s.

“Can we, though?” Andy dodged to reclaim Katherine’s gaze. “Eventually, I mean.”

Katherine reached into her pocket, drew out a pack of cigarettes, and pulled one out. She raised her eyebrows at Andy. “I know you hate it,” she said, sticking one into her mouth, “but as I’m being dumped, I rather think I deserve one.”

“I’ll even light it for you.” Andy gently pulled the lighter out of Katherine’s hands and flicked it, then held the flame to the end of the cigarette.

Katherine inhaled, closed her eyes, breathed out. “Yes,” she said at last.

Andy could have collapsed with relief. “Thank you,” she said. 

“I’m eternally magnanimous,” Katherine said, opening one eye. She reached over and took Andy’s hand again. “May I be a sour old bitch about it for a while?”

Andy squeezed her fingers. “For as long as you want,” she said.

*

It felt disingenuous, somehow, to see Miranda after that. She texted her: _Things to think about, can I come over Friday?_

_Yes_ , came the reply, not twenty minutes later.

It wasn’t what you'd call an easy rapport, true, but it was a start. 

*

“I didn’t know you cooked,” Andy said.

Miranda didn’t look up from the carrot she was chopping. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” she said. 

“I, um.” Andy glanced down at her wine glass. “I ended things. With Katherine.”

Miranda stopped chopping. She put down the knife and looked at Andy. 

“I like her,” Andy said. “She’s a good friend, and that’s—that’s what I wanted her to be.” She swallowed hard. “My friend.”

Miranda’s expression was completely unreadable. “All right.”

Andy couldn’t make herself meet Miranda’s eyes. She felt the words pounding up through her chest with every heartbeat, and with her next breath, they tumbled out of her mouth. “I used to wonder what you’d do if I kissed you,” she said.

She heard Miranda’s soft, sharp inhale. Saw the way her hand splayed flat on the counter. When she spoke, it was almost inaudible. “Did you want to?”

Andy did look up at her then. “Every single day,” she said.

It was remarkable, Andy thought faintly, as Miranda took the four steps toward her, that Miranda’s blue eyes could go from frost-cold to burning with a single sweep of her lashes. And then Miranda was beside her, one hand on the back of her chair, and Andy was breathing her in, and she was close enough to touch.

“Andrea,” she murmured, “do you still?”

Andy tipped her face up. Closed her eyes. Felt Miranda’s hand land lightly on her cheek, sending bolts of electricity down her spine. 

“Yeah,” she said, “I do.”

Kissing Katherine had been everything it was supposed to be: hot, and fun, and with the promise of things to come. But this—Miranda’s lips on hers—

She had to open her eyes, then, because the world was quite literally spinning. Miranda’s breath in her mouth, her hand sliding down to Andy’s throat, the barely-there brush of the tip of her tongue—

She reached up, hands coming to either side of Miranda’s face, and stood. Miranda’s arms were around her now, one hand finding her waist, the other curled into her shoulder. Murmur of a moan against her lips, the sound making Andy go weak at the knees.

At last she pulled away, her heart hammering. She could hear Miranda’s soft quick breaths, feel Miranda’s fingertips moving restlessly on her waist, as though trying to worry through the fabric of her shirt. 

She opened her eyes, shifted back just enough to meet Miranda’s gaze. It wasn’t the right time to ask, but maybe it never would be. 

“Are you still afraid?” she said.

Miranda’s eyes flashed. Her grip on Andy tightened. 

“No,” she said. “Not any more.” And kissed Andy again.

_fin_


End file.
